


Day By Day

by chaoticmelody



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticmelody/pseuds/chaoticmelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garfield Logan is doing his best to cope and move on after his mother’s death, and all he wants to do is become a strong hero like his big sister. But problems don’t get solved that easily, and he finds himself struggling to deal with confusing new powers, panic attacks, life in general, and terrifying memories he just wants to keep hidden forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day By Day

The cave is always cold. That’s the first thing that has gotten through to him since he started living there. M’gann prefers it that way, and Conner doesn’t care, being invulnerable and all. Zatanna has collected a plethora of fuzzy sweaters, but he’s Quraqi. He spent his entire childhood in a place that was always warm, and what few clothes he has are light and summery. Nothing appropriate for a chilly New England cave.

Little green feet touch the floor, and slowly make their way over to the bathroom. The light switches on, and Gar blinks at the sudden brightness. He can feel it already, a dull emptiness deep in his chest, telling him that today will be a bad day. Bad days don’t hurt. Bad days are just tired, tired and sick and he doesn’t feel anything at all.

_First you have to take a shower. To do that, you have to turn on the water. Before you get in, take off your clothes. First you have to take a shower._ Repetition makes everything work, forcing himself to do the bare minimum of self-care and human interaction. He runs through the steps, dragging his shaking hands and numb brain through the tasks; the only thing preventing him from curling back into bed and crying. He’s spent too many days in the past weeks doing just that, and he has to make it stop, because it won’t get better on its own.

His body is different now, he notes as he tilts his head back under the water. Small, and green, and covered with scars. Painfully skinny, and no matter how many of M’gann’s perfectly cooked, nutritious meals he’s choked down, or how many deep fried snacks Wally supplies, his body is still weak and underweight, a testament to the horrors and pain a cruel Queen and her armies can cause.

But that’s not what really changed, not what changed so much he can barely recognize himself in the mirror. It’s the look on his face, haunted and wild. Gar has seen it before, on the Bialyan refugees that stumbled across the border. Lost, terrified, and dangerous. Just a little child, already a ghost, wandering through the halls of a mountain where giants live.

The rest of the day is empty.

The night is filled with terror.

_He wakes early. It’s habit, from long days of working on the sanctuary, but no matter how early he’s up his mom is always there first, breakfast already on the table._

_She isn’t there. He checks outside first. Sometimes, if there is an emergency, she might already be working, but she usually wakes him up to help. He gets dressed quickly, and runs down the road to meet the man that sometimes lends a hand on the sanctuary._

_“Have you seen my mom?” He calls out to him, easily slipping into Arabic. Being younger, he picked it up quicker than his mom, so she usually relies on him to talk to people. He shrugs. “I thought I saw her take the car out. If you run, you might be able to catch up with her.” He thanks him, then takes off. She wouldn’t have gone far without him. She’s probably taking an emergency call, picking up a sick animal. If that’s the case, then she’d take the west road… He slides down the ditch on the side of the road, just in time to avoid a military convoy. They’ve been increasing lately, but the chances they’ll bother him are slim. His feet pound against the ground, and through the jungle. He figures he can catch up to her by the waterfall. He hurdles over a boulder, ducks under some vines, then screeches to a halt as the sound of water gets louder._

_He knows what he is going to find. He desperately wants to turn around, just walk away. But it’s a dream, a nightmare following a reality, and his body has no choice but to obey._

M’gann shakes him awake, cutting it off. She sensed it, the horror and distress rippling through the cave, easily detected by a psychic. She holds him close, letting him cry into her shoulder.

She almost says, “It’s over. Everything will be okay. It’s over,” but she bites it back, because that would be lying. It’s not over, she thinks. It’s only begun, and it’s all my fault.

+

It’s a good day, for once, so he’s actually up and about, helping Zatanna in the kitchen. He’s found himself spending more time with her, or maybe she’s spending more time with him. She understands, recently having lost her father. She’s more bearable to be around, knowing just the right things to do and say to make him feel better. She shows him a few of her sneakiest cooking spells, and he giggles as she whips up a sugar snowstorm. He forgets, for one of the first times in weeks, as she grins evilly and starts making the gingerbread cookies march around, parading around to the beat of rapidly opening and shutting cabinets. That’s when they hear the Zeta beam announce M’gann’s arrival.

“yako, s’that hguone.” She orders sternly, the sugar finding its way back into the bag and the cookies lying back down in straight, immobile lines. The cabinet by the fridge gives one last, stubborn slam as M’gann floats in. She hasn’t told him anything, really, but he can tell. She looks awful, bags under eyes from sleepless nights, somehow managing to look disheveled despite her shapeshifting. She doesn’t want to look like Marie anymore, and he knows it. She’s been trying a different look every few hours, and it’s been taking its toll on her. She looks exhausted, and mumbles something about going right to bed.

The cave is quiet. Conner is spending dinner with Superman. He didn’t want to go, not with the state everyone was in, but everyone had urged him on. He wasn’t really helping, what with his constant protective hovering. Tonight, it’s just Gar and the girls. Missions have been slow recently, and Batman seems to be purposely not assigning the cave residents to anything. M’gann murmurs something about the food looking delicious, her voice so flat and dead she barely seems like his sister anymore.

She drifts away to the showers, and Zatanna touches him softly on the shoulder. She calmly covers his trembling hands with hers and pulls him close.

“Hey. Everything will be fine. It just takes a little time. I promise.” Inside, she’s angry. She’s angry at the world, for destroying the people close to her. She’s angry at M’gann, for shutting down, for not being there for him. (She knows the temptation, to just shut down and let everything become numb. It’s easier to cope that way. She understands. But M’gann is stronger than that, and yet she’s fallen apart, wracked with guilt, barely able to take care of herself, let alone her brother.) It’s that same anger she’s felt since Fate took her Dad. That’s why she became a hero, isn’t it? Because no family should be ripped apart, not like that. Yet, barely a few months later, she’s already failed.

She hates the patronizing words that tumble out of her mouth. They don’t mean anything, just empty promises of a better future, the kind everyone told her would happen yet never did. She wants to tell Gar the truth, that it hurts, and it sucks, but you can’t do anything but move forward or drown. But that’s not what he needs to hear, not now. There will be time and a place for the truth, but for now, she hugs him tightly, and forces herself to smile and say, “C’mon, let’s finish making dinner. I’m sure M’gann will feel better with some food in her.”

Dinner goes well, and her efforts get M’gann to smile, and Gar cracks a few jokes. Before they know it, it’s almost like old times again, full of laughter, and without Marie’s death hanging over their heads. But then the sky grows dark, and it’s time for bed.

Then the nightmares come out, like clockwork, pulling him down as he tries not to scream.

_He’s running so fast he can’t breathe, but stopping isn’t an option. They’re hunting him, and angry shouts and bullets hurl past him as he stumbles on. He’s left the waterfall behind, her body slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool. He can’t go back and get it, and he can’t contact M’gann._

_Blood is leaking out of his shoulder where they got him good. He wants to curl up and wait for his mom, but she isn’t coming back. She’s already dead. He prays they haven’t brought dogs, not that they need them, he’s leaving an obvious trail._

_Pure animal instinct has taken over, driving him wild as he plunges even deeper through the jungle. Calling on adrenaline he didn’t even know he possessed, he uses an arsenal of tricks he also didn’t know he possessed. He dashes through tributaries and streams, creeps under bushes, heading for higher ground._

_He trips, and next thing he knows, he’s tumbling down a ravine, shrieks of pain escaping from his lips as he strikes already injured arms and legs on rocks and roots. He slides a few more feet, vision blurring, the coppery scent of blood everywhere._

_Heavy combat boots enter his graying field of vision, and one steps on his head, pressing him down into the dirt. He coughs and tries to scream as dirt enters his lungs, but he can’t stop choking._

_“The Queen wants him alive!" Someone yells, and he knows he’s screwed._

+

“Will you teach me?” Robin looks up in surprise at Gar. He flips up from sit up position to face him, and breaks out into a wide grin. He figured this would come eventually, remembering the time in which a not so different tiny boy had stood up to the Batman in desperation.

“So that’s it, isn’t it? You want to be a hero, just like your big sis?” He keeps his voice joking and light, recognizing himself in the child standing before him. It’s attractive, the power and control you gain.

“Yeah. I want to be a hero too. I want… to be stronger. To protect myself. I don’t want to be a victim anymore.” Gar’s voice shakes a little when he speaks, but Robin can tell he’s determined, desperate even.

“Have you talked to M’gann about this?” Gar pauses, then sheepishly looks down at his feet.

“She spends enough of her time worrying about me.”

“You really should talk to her. I think this could be good for both of you. After all, you’re eventually going to need her help with all those weird Martian powers you could have.” M’gann needs a distraction too. It could be a step towards healing, for both of them. It’s not just him who’s thinking it. Kaldur and Artemis have been hinting for Gar to join their training session for at least a month now.

Despite Gar’s begging, he insists on starting with basic stretches and exercises. It’s better that way, to start slow. The kid is gifted, flexible and athletic, and Dick is considering teaching him acrobatics eventually. For now, though, he just isn’t healthy enough. Weeks spent in the hospital after his ordeal in Qurac has left him weak, and skinny, and the last thing he needs now is to get hurt.

“How long did you train before Batman let you go out?” Gar asks, as Robin leans on his back, pushing him down into a deep stretch.

“About a year or so. But unlike you, I had some prior training, and no crazy powers I needed to control. It could take a long time before Miss M lets you go on missions.” The Zeta tube whirs and spits out Aqualad, Tempest, and Aquagirl, and they all settle down into their own _personal stretches and routines, no questions asked of the tiny green b_ oy who’s making awkward squeaks as Robin ruthlessly pushes his head down to touch his knees.

“Stretch every day. Do exercises every day. While you watch TV. While you brush your teeth. You asked for Bat-training, soldier, you got it!” Robin barks out as Gar stumbles out of the training room hours later, dazed and exhausted.

“Sir, yes SIR!” He replies, narrowly avoiding crashing into Superboy, his legs like jello as he drags himself into his bedroom.

“That was harsh.” Conner remarks, staring down at the pint-sized taskmaster in front of him.

“Trust me, Conner my man. It works fine, and he’ll thank me for it later.” _Bat-training. 100% infallible. Patent-pending. Guaranteed to do two things: First, to make a kick-ass hero out of you who’s ready for anything. Second, completely wipe out any small children so there are no nightmares._

The cave is quiet that night, the first one since Gar came that its residents have slept completely through the night.

_Still works, Bruce,_ Robin thinks as he greets his pupil for training bright and early the next morning. He’s going to make this better for Gar. It’ll be tough, and there will be setbacks, but he learned from the best. He’s not going to let the kid grow up like him.

+

Despite the extra training, or maybe even because of, Gar feels more energetic, more aware. It rubs off on everyone, except maybe M’gann. She’s fading away, and he still hears her crying, too. He hasn’t stopped either, but he’s stopped doing it front of her, curling up with Conner, or Zatanna instead, stubbornly insisting on her not knowing about it. She still feels it, the underlying sadness, and the terrors that plague him, but he somehow believes he can stop her from worrying. Unlike her, he chooses not to dwell on it while the sun is up, forcing it to the dark corners of his mind, letting his semi-secret training sessions with the team become his primary concern.

Well, that and food, of course. Robin, Wally, and Artemis are all screaming at the celebrities playing hockey on the television, and he’s draped upside-down over the back of the couch sucking on a juice-box. The rules are unfamiliar, and the so-called famous people even more so.

“Who’s that?” He points at a very busty blond woman attempting to hit the small black thing with her stick.

“Who cares? She’s barely interesting enough to warrant my attention.” Artemis replies. “NO, SCREW YOU! THE OTHER WAY! THAT’S YOUR OWN FREAKING NET!” She sighs and half-heartedly throws a pillow at the screen in annoyance. “Ya know, Gar. It’s really hard to properly convey my frustration with these buffoons when there’s a nine year-old in the room.” He giggles, and Wally pulls her into a hug.

“At least it forces you to use your full vocabulary. Studying for the SAT’s?” She kisses him on the cheek and nods. “Junior year at Gotham Academy is a bitc- drag. Total drag.” Robin pulls a face, not looking forward to it, then changes the channel to some mindless cartoons.

“So, Gar. What are you gonna do about school? You can’t stay at the cave forever.” He flips over the back of the couch and slides in between Wally and Artemis, thoughtfully slurping at his juice.

“M’gann and Conner got me enrolled at Happy Harbor Elementary as an exchange student. Once Zee finishes the glamour charm, I should start there, and hopefully no one will ask any questions.”

Wally ruffles his hair and pulls him in close.

“As long as you still can make it for practice. When’s the last time you even went to school?”

_“_ I went to the village school in Qurac for a while, but once the situation with Bialya heated up, and we lost some of our workers to the fighting Mom pulled me out and started homeschooling me.”

Artemis steals him away from Wally and gives him a tight hug. “Hey, we’re all proud of you. This is big step, going to school. I just know you’re gonna have a lot of fun, and make some great friends.”

He pushes his way out of her arms and she tackles him again.

“No! Let go!” He shrieks, worming around in her arms.

“If you can’t get out of this, you have absolutely no chance of becoming a superhero,” she says, not even half serious. He yells for Robin to help him, but he just feigns deafness and becomes extremely engrossed in the cartoon animals prancing across the screen.

He’s not quite sure how he manages to get such a mothering and playful nature out of Artemis, but it’s fun. Zatanna isn’t into physical activity much, and Conner is always scared to play with him due to his strength. Artemis, on the other hand, loves to tussle and pick him up, and on hot days will just pick him up and bodily throw him into the water. He doesn’t know whether or not it’s because of her own strange upbringing that she tends to do things the other teams member look at her in absolute horror for, but he loves it anyway. It may be dangerous to let a nine year old help you with the blow torch when making fancy desserts, or to let them work on the motorcycles, but it’s also the most fun. It reminds him of Qurac, where no one, especially not his mother, thought anything of barefoot kids running everywhere, crazy soccer matches, and hanging around big, potentially dangerous wild animals.

He clambers over the sofa and scampers into the kitchen, sliding in between the legs of the kitchen tables. Artemis follows behind him, reaching under to tickle him if he gets too close. Wally, and finally Robin, all join in, and they end up back on the couch, the cushions strewn all over the living area, and a completely oblivious Conner sitting among them watching static.

“Next time, we should get everyone else to come over, and then we can make an enormous pillow fort, and we can watch movies and eat popcorn…” his voice slows down, tired from all the running around.

“That sounds good.” Wally admits, stuffing handfuls of potato chips into his mouth. Robin looks at his watch, and slowly stands up.

“We should get home, pipsqueak. Tell everyone else hi for us, okay?” They head toward the zeta tubes, and leave Conner with the sleeping child on his lap.

+

He can’t do it. Hecan’tdoithecan’tdoithecan’tdoit- Dimly he hears M’gann’s panicked voice in his ears, telling him to calm down, to just breathe. The glamour around his neck is heavy, and it’s choking him as he tries to rip it off.

He didn’t even make it one step outside the cave, outside of his sanctuary before the panic attack set in. The open is scary, unpredictable. The animal instinct inside him screams out to run, to hide, to do anything, as long as he can get somewhere safe.

“She’s out there, she’s waiting for me! She’ll find us, M’gann, we have to run, we have to get out of here!” He’s babbling, and he’s clawing at her unfamiliar form, Caucasian hands on clear Caucasian skin. It’s a mask, the first time on months he’s looked like he used to, and it’s wrong. It’s wrong and everything’s wrong and it never will be right again and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. S

he holds him tight, and rushes him back inside the safety of the mountain. He feels the tears on his cheeks, and he’s ashamed. He’s weak, and pathetic, and he’ll never be a hero, not if he can’t even leave the cave without freaking out. He curls in on himself, and M’gann looks on in fear.

Happy Harbor Elementary School’s Quraqi exchange student never shows up.

+

The nightmares return that night, in full force. He doesn’t try to be brave, he lets himself scream himself hoarse as the images race through his mind.

_Bones break, skin tears, and blood spurts out in a crimson arc, as he watches the car crash. He’s inside it, a new vantage point he’s never seen before. Everything freezes as the fall begins, her head going through the windshield. Red and fragments of glass are everywhere, droplets of blood, and clouds of hair whipping around her face. It’s almost graceful, the way everything dances as her head snaps back on impact, water rushing up to meet her. Then time starts again and everything is chaos, swirling around and dragging him down. He tries to swim up to the sun shining through the surface, but he’s trapped, and Queen Bee reaches down, pushing him under, pushing him deeper._

He gasps for air, and it’s over. _Just keep telling yourself that,_ he thinks to himself. _It will never be over. She’s always there, waiting for you. It’s just a matter of time until she finds you again._

_You’re never safe._

+

He can’t focus right the next few days, but that doesn’t stop Robin’s grueling training regimen. Robin holds his feet as he struggles to do fifty sit-ups, looking refreshed and slightly bored, despite having just done twice as many.

_“_ When” _gasp “_ Do you think” _wheeze “_ you’ll let me” _pant “_ spar with someone?”

Robin looks down at him with amusement.

“Maybe after you can complete those sit-ups without collapsing into a pile of sweat and tears?”

He slumps onto the floor, completely giving up for the day. “I hate core work. And if you weren’t some weird ‘child of the night’ you would hate it too.” Robin cackles, and flings himself down next to him.

“I’ve been stretching and exercising like this since birth, practically. I’m just used to it. Once your body gets stronger, and more flexible, you’ll be used to it, too.”

He rolls over so he could face the older boy, a bit shocked at this new tidbit offered about the boy wonder’s personal life.

“It’s weird,” he says, letting his cheek rest against the cool floor. “It always seems like it should be easy. You just punch some bad guys in the face and you’re a hero. But really, it’s just training, and more training, and getting ready, in the hopes that you won’t die miserably on your first mission.”

There’s a hollow laugh from Robin, built up from years of cynicism. “Bingo, kid. You finally get it. Now, you see-” He props himself up on his elbows and stretches, catlike. “-if you’re willing to push through that, and not give up, you’ll be a great hero.” He almost regrets those words when he sees Gar’s eyes shine, the naïveté and hope in them still bright, despite everything that happened to him. _It’s going to break him completely,_ he thinks,and when he realizes this he wishes so very hard that they never and landed and helped them in Qurac. _Everything has consequences,_ he reminds himself. _We have to take responsibility. We came in and trashed this kid’s life. Now we have to fix it, to make up for all that pain we cause through our carelessness._ He swallows down his melancholy thoughts, and tries not to remember the young street boy sleeping in the spare room at the manor, and stands up.

“C’mon, breaks over. I think it’s about time I teach you how to fall properly.”

+

He’s lecturing Garth and Tula on how to properly make a grilled cheese sandwich, much to Kaldur’s amusement. They haven’t spent nearly as much time on the surface as the other Atlantean, so they’re still a bit awkward and shy around the rest of the Team, especially with situation about him.

He’s perched on a tall stool, and is attempting to lift a heavy pan onto the stove. Garth and Tula are looking on, fascinated by cooking. They’ve been trying M’gann’s recipes, but it’s about time they’ve tasted the glorious combination that is melted cheese and crunchy bread, neither of which exist under the ocean.

They surround him as he tilts his proud creations onto the plate in the middle of the counter.

“It’s pretty.” Tula remarks, biting into the food.

“And a bit chewy.” Garth adds, strings of cheese dangling from his lips. Kaldur snorts at the sight, and Tula leans over and wipes his face.

“Food has been one of my favorite parts of the surface world.” Kaldur admits. “However, one day, you’re going to have to accompany us to Atlantis to try some of our food. I think you would enjoy seeing all of the wildlife, as well.” 

"That would be so cool! But… do you think I could? I’m not sure I could survive down there. I thought only Sis and Conner could actually make the trip.” Kaldur looks at him thoughtfully. “

But you are of Miss Martian’s blood. Perhaps you have some hidden qualities. I understand that neither of you have experimented with the possibility of you having powers.”

He can’t help but imagine himself flying with his sister, with Martian Manhunter, and the thought of that thrills him. He practically flips off the stool to run over to the leader. Garth protectively whips his sandwich out of the way, and Tula giggles as he passes by.

“You really think so? You think I could actually do stuff?” Kaldur’s laugh is soothing and wonderful and he ruffles the boy’s hair.

“I definitely think it would be a bad idea to dismiss the possibility. That’s the one thing I discovered at the conservatory. Your own potential will surprise you.” Tula stands up and places her plate in the sink.

_“_ Tell you what,” she says, looking a bit mischievous. “At our next girl’s night, I’ll slip M’gann the idea of training you. As long as you help me learn to make more surface dweller dishes.” She’s a bit surprised at the strength behind the hug, but Robin’s exercises have been paying off. She awkwardly returns the embrace, but with a slight smile.

“Surface dwellers are amusing.” She says in Atlantean as Gar rushes off in excitement. “Very affectionate. Very enthusiastic.” She turns to Kaldur and smiles. “I like it up here. It’s wonderful, and they have delicious food and they are all very fast.”

Kaldur smiles back at her, and beckons Garth over. “We need to report to briefing. It would not look good if the leader was late to his own meeting.” Kaldur usually looks calm, but he can’t help but feel excited. It’s good, knowing that all of the new misfits are finding a place on the team, be they new members, or little brothers.

+

He stands in the bathroom, suspiciously staring at the so-called piece of clothing M’gann expects him to wear. It’s not that it’s ugly, or uncomfortable, he just isn’t exactly sure how it’s supposed to go on. It’s basically a red x-shaped harness, but somehow it’s supposed to be the same bodysuit she wears all the time. He pokes it, and half expects it to move, but it just lies limply in his hands. He shrugs and pulls it over his head.

He feels a bit silly, standing there wearing nothing but shorts and an ‘x’, but it could be worse. (As much as Kid Flash tries to convince him it’s aerodynamic, he’s still convinced Wally just grew and is now wearing a too tight uniform.)

“Abracadabra.” The stubborn material just sits there, unchanging.

“Transform!” This time, he tries some hand motions, to no avail. He tugs on the harness, then sighs.

“M’gann! The stupid thing won’t transform!” He calls out, hoping she’s in earshot. She responds by opening the door, and can’t help but snort with laughter at him. She just looks at it and it melts and expands, crawling over his body. He screws his eyes shut and stiffens at the unfamiliar situation, and the bio suit swirls down his legs and arms. He feels something cover his head, and he peeks up to find a soft blue hood draped over his face. He pushes it back, and sees his sister smile at him, dressed exactly like him.

“You look great. I was worried it would be a bit awkward, but you’re family, so I thought it was only fitting you get to wear the X.” She trails off, not sure if he’s okay with assimilating into her family. He looks down, and checks himself out in the mirror. He spins around, cape flaring out behind him, just a bit too long.

“This is awesome!” He pulls the hood back over his face, and strikes some poses. He runs out the door and leaps onto the couch.

“I am the NIGHT!” He shrieks, then jumps off, cape billowing behind him as he races down the hall. “I’m going to go show everyone! I’ll be right back!” He calls behind him, tripping slightly over the long fabric.

Robin protests as the boy whips by him, cape snagging on his papers and sending them everywhere.

“Watch out! You’re going to hurt somebody, Gar!”

“Gar? There is no Gar here. Only the mysterious- Martian Lad!” He pulls the cape over his face in an attempt to look heroic, and Robin tries to pretend his anger isn’t quickly dissipating.

“Ouch, man. You need a new hero identity worse than me. Now, help me pick up this mess.” Gar bends down and starts to gather them up, examining them with a critical eye.

“You look like you’re channeling the 70’s with this one. “ Robin snatches the drawing out of his hand, and snorts.

“That was Artemis. We were working on camouflage suit ideas, and she was coming up with period costumes. You should have seen the Victorian age uniforms.” Gar hops up onto a chair next to him, and spreads out all the drawings.

“You’re really planning on giving up Robin, huh.” He whispers and touches a page, slightly smearing the ink.

“Not really giving it up. More like, passing it on.” Robin sighs and pushes his bangs away from his face, a nervous habit he hasn’t been able to break. “Robin saved me. It was a safety net, and it caught me and supported me when I needed it. But I don’t need it anymore. It was a stepping stone, and now I’m growing up. I have to move on. So,” he says, gathering up all of the papers and stuffing them into his bag. “It doesn’t make sense to just throw it away. I’m going to let Robin save someone else.”

Gar stares down at the bare table, and Robin puts his hand on his shoulder.

“I know it sounds a bit weird-“

“It doesn’t. I mean, sound weird. I think it makes perfect sense. I think whoever gets to be Robin next is gonna be the luckiest boy alive!” Robin smiles, and motions at the door.

“Thanks. But don’t you and M’gann have something special to do together?” He yelps and turns to dash into the main room, cloak snagging on the chair and knocking it over.

“Sorry, sorry! Oh no, not another one. Ugh!”

As he scampers away, Robin calls after him, “Next training session: How to manage capes!” The heavy fabric swirls around the door and into the next room, and Robin makes a mental note to cut the cape out of his new costume.

M’gann is hovering, cross-legged, when her brother finally makes his way to their training session. She doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows she’s a bit apprehensive about teaching him to use his powers.

“It’s too soon. I don’t think I can do it. I’ll just mess up, and it’ll all go horribly wrong.” She said to Conner, afraid of herself. She cannot bring herself to cause more damage. But Conner believes in her, he believes it would be a good thing, for both of them.

“You have to try, though.” He remembers Conner’s voice, heard through their door when he shouldn’t be listening, comforting her. “Both of you need this. A chance to start over, to sort some things out. I can’t think of anyone else he’d rather talk to.” She had felt him there, and they switched to telepathic speak soon after, but whatever he said, it must have worked, because the next day she set the date for their first session.

He sits across from her, and stares up. She hangs there, hair and cape rippling softly in a wind that doesn’t exist, her eyes glowing.

_Are you sure you want to do this?_ She whispers in his mind, and he nods. He can feel her reaching out to him slowly taking her mind within his, and he braces himself. _This is M’gann,_ he thinks to himself. _It’s your sister, and you want her in here. It’s not Psimon, and she’s not forcing her way in. It’s safe._

He opens his eyes to her mind, and it’s beautiful and surreal.

“Is this what Mars looks like?” He calls up to her, and she does a casual somersault in midair, thinking hard.

“Not especially. I mean, it looks a bit like the surface, but it’s definitely different. After all, when I was on Mars, I didn’t really want to be there, so I kept it separate.”

It’s weird, floating here in her brain, but she glides over to him and takes his hand.

“We’re just going to practice some mental control. Telepathy is hard, and it will take some time to master, but you can learn some techniques to keep your mindscape organized…” she pauses and breaks eye contact, and he can feel her sadness. “… and protected. It doesn’t take much skill, or talent. You just have to be stubborn, and creative, and you’ll be able to put up some rudimentary defenses against unwanted company… or even your own mind.” She adds that last part as an afterthought, and he’s a bit nervous to what it could mean.

She grabs his hand tightly, and he can feel her power rushing through him, guiding him. There’s a push, not a forceful one, not like Psimon, or Queen Bee, but a gentle touch, and next thing he knows they’re falling again, into his mind.

It’s not like M’gann’s at all. Hers is strong, and neat. His, on the other hand, is jumbled and dark, and wild. He unconsciously huddles close to her, afraid.

“Don’t worry. There are dark parts in everyone’s mind. They’re scary, and different, but you have to remember: It’s still a part of you. They can’t hurt you, unless you give them power. Unless you give in.” She smiles at him, and he can’t help but wonder at what dark parts are in her mind. It’s not his place to ask, so he shuts that thought down hard, and they descend to the ground of his mindscape.

M’gann’s a rough trainer. They mentally spar for what seems like hours, and he can barely fend her off for even a few minutes.

Finally he just collapses to the ground and clutches his head. The floor is cold beneath his pounding head and he screws his eyes shut, trying to block out the bright lights and the too loud concerned voices. Hands help prop him up, and someone hands him a glass of water, which he guzzles eagerly.

His vision dances before his eyes, and he can barely make out Conner taking back the empty glass and Raquel’s hands on his shoulder, making sure he’s okay. M’gann’s looking a bit dizzy herself, but Zatanna calls in a few chairs into the room and helps her sit down.

“It’s okay. Just relax. This kind of psychic work always takes its toll. Once you get used to it, you’ll feel better.” He nods in response to M’gann’s words, but it just leads to a spike of pain bursting through his skull, and a high pitched whine escapes him as Raquel picks him up and places him on the couch. Conner reappears with some ice wrapped in a towel, and places it on his forehead. It’s blessedly cold, and he lets out a happy little moan as some melted water trickles down his face.

“That feels amazing,” he rasps out, and Conner gives him a knowing grin.

“I’ve done a little bit of mental sparring with M’gann, so I know what works, especially since she beats me every time.” He adjusts the ice slightly, and continues. “But you did great. You two were going at it for hours. I usually give up after a couple of rounds. Stubbornness is great and all, but she’s really strong.” M’gann floats in, and settles herself cross-legged in the air by his side.

“Do you feel okay?” She asks, worry creasing her forehead as she looks down at him.

“I’ve been better.”

“Are you sure you want to continue doing this? We can always hold off for a while. I know it’s really difficult, and that it hurts-“

“Same time tomorrow?” He manages to choke out. “I’m doing this even if it kills me.” M’gann looks a little taken aback, but Raquel reaches down and fist bumps him, and Conner shakes his head and holds back laughter.

Her face softens into a smile and she reaches down and pokes his forehead. “Same time tomorrow.”

+

His brain hurts like hell, and his body aches like crazy. Looking back on it, it might not have been the best idea to jump into both physical and mental training, but what’s done is done. M’gann’s training hasn’t been as difficult as their first session, but the league has finally managed to get a tutor in, so he’s currently attempting to deal with serious make up work, intense Bat-training, daily mental exercises, and his weekly battle with Black Canary.

She insists on talking to him every week without fail, in what he considers a futile attempt to get him to talk about his “issues.”

“Conner finds them helpful,” she told him the first time, and his only response was “Huzzah for Conner.”

It’s an infuriating mix of pleasant conversation, and her sneaky ways of tripping him up so he can talk about how he’s been coping. He likes Dinah well enough, but he isn’t as comfortable with her as everyone else seems to be.

They sit across from each other, and Gar pretends to be engrossed in the pitcher of juice and the cups on the small table between them. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but he isn’t paying attention, instead choosing to curl up tighter and press his palms to his head in an attempt to stop to constant pounding headache.

She continues to speak, full of _are you okay,_ and _please talk to me,_ and _if you get it out into the open, you’ll feel better._ He can’t take it, and he doesn’t mean to snap, but he’s in pain and he’s overwhelmed, and everything comes pouring out.

“What do you want me to say? You keep asking all these questions, and I don’t have any answers. Do you HONESTLY believe that telling you all these horrible things will make me feel BETTER? It won’t. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to even think about it. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s always still there, and I don’t need you throwing it back in my face and asking you how I feel about it. I can tell you right now how I feel about it. IT HURTS, AND IT FEELS AWFUL. It will never go away, and it will never stop. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to bed, thank you very much.” He pulls his hood over his head, and almost runs from the room, trying not to look at Canary’s anguished face. He’s never wished harder to be able to camouflage right now, as he desperately tries to avoid the worried glances of the team members. He slams the door to his room, and curls up tightly. His brain feels like it’s on fire, and that can’t be good. There’s a knock on the door, and it sets off some more fireworks, and he just whimpers out a “Go away,” which M’gann of course ignores and barges in anyway.

She sits down on the bed next to him, and strokes his hair gently. It’s a comforting gesture, something his mother used to do, and memories of her come flooding back to him, back when the sun was hot and warm, and they would spend all day out in the field. She pushes the hood back from his face, and cups his cheek in her hand. The touch is almost too much for his overloaded brain, but he leans into it.

Her voice comes from far away, and he can’t really make out the words. He mumbles out something in response. All he can grasp is the high pitched terrified tone to her voice as she calls out to someone. He can feel her probe into his mind, and it hurts. She draws back, and Zatanna comes running in.

“Og ot peels!”

So he does.

+

When he wakes up, the first thing he hears in the steady beeping of monitors. “Hospital,” he tells himself. He turns over to see a nurse, one of the only outside people he’s seen since he started living in the cave. She takes one look at him, and jumps. She quickly makes her way out of the room, and he’s alone again. He can’t blame her. A weird green child isn’t necessarily the kind of patient he’d want, either, especially after what happened when he was last here.

His body feels numb, and he attributes that to the pain killers they’re probably pumping into him. At least the pressure on his brain seems to have lifted. They’ve got something right for once.

He hates it here. It was the first place they brought him when they got him out, terrified, touch-starved, and in more pain than he though imaginable. He remembers all the shouting and confusion, people holding him down as M’gann did her best to calm him. They had never handled a case like his before, so all they did was sedate him and try to keep him from hurting himself as he shook and screamed, the Martian blood twisting through him.

Conner pushes the door open and makes his way over to the bed. For a second, Gar can see the rest of the team jostling for a peek through the small window, and he smiles and gives them a weak wave. The door slams shut, and he can hear Wally and Artemis arguing, and Tula and Garth’s eyes peer from the gap between the door and the tiles.

“Where’s M’gann?” Conner sighs and pulls over a chair next to the bed.

“You know her. She’s convinced it’s all her fault.” Gar groans and shifts restlessly.

“What on earth is she talking about? I’m fine, and she hasn’t done anything.” From outside the room, he can hear a commotion as a burly male nurse chases the ridiculous amount of teenagers down the hallway, yelling something about ‘disturbing the patients.’

“Look, I know this is going to be hard, but we called in Martian Manhunter, and we figured out what happened.” Gar knows what’s coming next, and he clutches the blanket tightly in his hands, desperately wishing that this conversation isn’t happening.

He feels numb as Conner launches into a speech about Martian biology, about how their brains are specialized for telepathy, about how his is not. He wants to tune it out, but all he can do is try to shut down the terrible thoughts that are swirling around his head.

You’ll never be a hero. You’re pathetic, you can’t do anything. You’ll always be that way. You can’t even save yourself, and now you expect to save others?

Conner puts his hand on his shoulder, in an attempt to break the news gently.

“I’m sorry, Gar. Your body and brain just aren’t built for Martian telepathy. If you continue doing these exercises, you could damage them, permanently.” He realizes now why Conner came to tell him the news. He understands, or at least, he should understand. He knows how bad it feels to live in the shadow of a more gifted relative, and being told that you lack the potential to reach their level.

It’s just another bitter reminder that, no matter their physical appearance, he isn’t really a part of M’gann and Uncle J’onn’s family. Conner just rubs his back and holds him awkwardly as he covers his face and cries.

+

Conner spends that night comforting the other half of the devastated sibling pair. M’gann has always been emotional, a sharp contrast to his admittedly poor communication skills. She’s outright despondent, and he repeats the same comforting gestures on her as she smashes her head into her pillow over and over again, berating herself.

“It’s all my fault. _Hellooo Megan!_ Who else’s could it be?” The familiar catchphrase isn’t as light and cheerful now, but harsh and mocking, and is punctuated with a rough sob.

He doesn’t know what to say, but before he can even make an attempt she continues.

“I should have known. I could feel something was off, but I wanted so badly to believe that I’d at least given him something good, not just fear and isolation. I should have just left them alone. I never should have gotten involved. I’ve ruined his life, and he probably hates me. I should have just destroyed Queen Bee when I had the chance.”

Conner’s breath hitches in his throat when she says that, and he pulls her up until she’s sitting facing him.

“Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever say any of that, ever again. How could he ever hate you? You’re his sister.” His voice is soft, and he wants nothing more but to make her realize how much she’s worth.

“You’ve done everything you could. If you keep going back and saying ‘I should have,’ you’re going to tear yourself apart. It’s okay, M’gann. You’ve done enough.”

It echoes over the mind link they share, one that they barely ever break. _You’ve done enough. Rest, M’gann. We’ll figure something out in the morning. We all will._ They lay there for a while, in each other’s’ arms.

He wishes that it could be just like TV. He wishes he could solve all of her problems in 22 minutes.

+

When Gar leaves the hospital, for what he hopes will be the last time, the Team throws him a party. The new Robin attends, and he’s amazing. Tough, but full of joy and life. He’s a few years older than Gar, but having someone younger around is great. Except for the occasional visit from Billy, who’s 12 and far too busy with the League to stay long, he’s mostly surrounded by older teens who are starting college classes and finding less and less time to hang out. But Robin doesn’t care and texts him when they’re both supposed to be taking classes, to the point where Mr. Carr confiscates his phone at the beginning of every day.

He redoubles his efforts on physical training, and Nightwing lets him pair up with Robin. It’s tougher, and he can be a bit rough on him, but he always apologizes, giving Nightwing a scared look. He later admits to him that he’s still a bit overwhelmed with being a part of all of this, that he imagines it’s some sort of sick joke and he’ll wake up on the streets again. Gar knows the feeling. Some days, he fears he will find himself back in Qurac, surrounded by fear and Bialyan troops.

He still meditates with M’gann, but the mental exercises have stopped. No more attempts at starting mind links, or lifting small objects. Instead he focuses on cleaning his mind, pushing all of the darkness out and fixing the things he’s broken. It’s hard, and he doesn’t want to be there. There are too many things inside him he would rather not have to see again.

M’gann watches him even closer than before, afraid that she could make him worse. She forces herself to do the same thing, cutting through the self-loathing and guilt when it tangles up in her head. Conner encourages her, and she’s grateful for his stubbornness. After years of loving him, it’s worn off on her, and she uses it to keep going. _You can’t ignore this anymore,_ she tells herself. _It isn’t healthy, and it isn’t right._ She conjures up the good memories, when Conner held her hand and told her she was beautiful, that she deserved to be happy, and they move through her with fiery passion as she works to banish her demons.

_You have to do this_ , she thinks. _You have to be strong, and powerful. You can’t let anything get in your way again. You can’t let anything hurt you, or your family, let alone these poisonous feelings. Otherwise, you’ll infect the others with them. You’ll infect Gar_.

She desperately hopes she hasn’t already.

+

Artemis and Wally sit at the table, attempting to do homework, but really all they’re doing is doodling goofy pictures of the League and holding hands. It would be sweet, and normally, Gar is all for adorable couples, but he’s having trouble focusing on his own work. They had offered to babysit him, freeing up everyone else to head out on the mission, and they had finally buckled down to work after a free-for-all nerf fight that had lasted over an hour and had broken at least one lamp.

He’s barely finished a single math problem when an alarm from the Cave computer rings out. Wally is across the room in a heartbeat, and he shouts back the message.

“Bank robbery, a few miles out. Armed and dangerous, people trapped inside. Red Tornado said he’d deal with it himself, but he’s busy with Traya, and he wants to know if we can deal with it.”

Artemis looks at her notes, and up at Gar, and grimaces.

“I don’t think we should leave Gar here alone.”

“I could just go, I could get there much faster.”

“No offense, but I don’t think I should leave you alone, either.”

The cave is silent, and he’s positive he can hear them thinking. Artemis whips around, ponytail flying, and slams her notebook shut.

“Suit up, everyone! We’re heading out!”

Gar makes a strangled choking noise, and Wally beams at her. He steps away from their eager gazes, shaking his head. He can feel his body trembling, and his heart pounding, and he isn’t sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“I-I don’t think this is a good idea.” His throat is dry, and he swallows nervously. He’s spent almost two years living in Mt. Justice, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to cope with the outside. Last time he left, he’d had a complete panic attack, and he hasn’t tried since. It’s not that he hasn’t dreamed of it, but he feels sick at the thought of being out in the open, so… vulnerable.

“Gar.” Artemis’s voice is soft, and he meets her eyes. She looks sad, as though she’s remembering something, and she stands there, strong and brave, everything he isn’t. “You don’t need to be afraid of anything. We’re going to be there with you, the whole time. You don’t even need to come inside the bank with us.” She crouches down to his height, and smiles at him. “You can’t stay here forever. I’ve seen you train, and I know how hard you work. You aren’t the same person you used to be. Don’t let the terrible things define who you are.”

He looks away, down at the floor, over his shoulder, anywhere but her face.

“She has no power over you. Not anymore. Never again.”

He breathes deep in an attempt to calm himself as Wally readies a motorcycle for the non-speedsters to ride while Artemis changes. The Martian biosuit still fits fine, but the red X is still a painful reminder of what he will never be. _You will never be a Martian, but you could be a hero._ The thought pipes up in his head, a little shy, as though he’s going to just shut it down without listening.

Artemis dashes out of the locker room, pulling on her motorcycle jacket and tossing Nightwing’s old one at Gar. He catches it, and a few seconds later a helmet sails toward him. Wally’s finished his stretching, and both look at him expectantly.

_She has no power over you anymore._

He takes a deep breath and puts on the helmet. Wally gives a whoop of excitement, and next thing he knows he’s clinging tightly to Artemis’s back with a face full of long blond hair as they roar down the highway. Wally barely seems to be breaking a sweat as he runs alongside, cracking jokes about death by hairballs. It hits him hard when it finally registers that he’s outside. It’s nighttime, and the sky is different from Qurac’s but it’s still there. He presses his face into her back, and she laughs.

“You’re doing fine. You’re doing just fine.”

They come to a stop and park away from the bank, and he follows them as they creep by the drive-through ATM and crouch along the side of the building. The plan is simple. Artemis will shoot through the glass and knock the gun out of Thug No. 1’s hand, and Wally will disarm the other crooks. Gar will stay outside and help the escaping hostages to safety.

He nods and pulls his hood over his head. It’s not like his identity is really in danger, what with him being green, but it makes him feel a little safer. They take their positions, and Wally raises his hand in the signal for “ready.” He lets it drop, and there is a _twang_ and a breaking of glass and it’s begun.

Gar opens the door and motions for the civilians to hurry. They dash past him, and it’s exhilarating, the adrenaline and the grateful looks they give him as they pass. Wally and Artemis are amazing, moving in perfect time as they kick and punch and spin, taking down the hapless crooks.

The last person is just escaping when he spots him out of the corner of his eye. He just has enough time to shout before he tackles the final hostage to the floor, a bullet whistling over their heads. The ground stings his knees, and he can feel blood dripping from his legs where he skidded on the broken glass. The man is limping over towards him, and he points his gun right at him.

Gar doesn’t even think. He just rolls over and hurls the nearest thing he can grab at the attacker. The potted plant soars through the air, and with a resounding crash hits its target: the criminal’s face. The gun goes off, and the bullet slams into the wall barely a foot from his head.

He leans against the wall and stares at the scene before him in shock. Wally rushes over and wraps the would-be bank robbers in a layer of duct tape, and Artemis slides over beside him and sits down.

“I don’t think we should mention this excursion to M’gann.”

Eyes wide, Gar nods assent. She leans back with an exhausted sigh, and Wally joins them, listening to the police sirens wail and letting their flashing lights dance over the walls.

+

The secret side missions become more and more frequent, until Aqualad begins leaving an encrypted file full of appropriately difficult missions that shouldn’t be too dangerous on the cave computer for him and whoever has eagerly volunteered to ‘babysit’ that night. They’re mostly just surveillance missions, but there was one time when he and Rocket ended up in a high speed chase over the roofs of Metropolis with people shooting at them.

He’s become addicted to the rush, and the excitement. He’s forgotten how wonderful the fresh air is, or how big and beautiful the sky is. He desperately wants more, to leap and fly with no fear. It’s amazing, the thrill that comes with knowing he’s doing _something_ , helping _someone_.

_She has no power over me_. It’s his mantra, a reminder that he isn’t a victim, not anymore. He’s a hero.

But all of that comes crashing down when Robin dies.

It’s a quiet night, and Mal Duncan is simultaneously trying to do work for college and coordinate multiple missions when suddenly there is screaming and blaring alarms and shouting from the cave computer. Mal turns around and yells at him to go to his room and not come out, no matter what he hears, but he’s already gone.

He dives into his room and curls up tightly, jamming his pillow over his head to block out Nightwing. He’s screaming, and he sounds animalistic and he shrieks the name “Jason” over and over again. Gar stays that way all night, screwing his eyes shut as the computer calmly spits out names and numbers but none of them are Robin, and the panic and confusion just escalate as time goes on.

The door creaks open, and M’gann drifts in, and she smells like blood. She grabs him close, and her grip hurts, her fingers digging into his shoulder as she trembles. He tentatively reaches out for her mind, but terror and pain drive him back. She isn’t even crying, just staring ahead blankly, and that’s when Zatanna enters and croaks out that they’ve found his body.

He can feel himself hyperventilating, because it can’t be happening, _not again_. Sobs echo down the hallway, and the computer announces Nightwing’s name. There is none for Robin, because he’s not there anymore. He’s already dead.

No one will let him into the main room, but he can just see past Mal enough to notice the body. A white sheet covers him, but blood drips from it, and he can see the garish yellow of his cape sticking out. It’s an awful sight, the bright colors a mockery of Robin and his loud, and so very lively personality. Superboy and Aqualad are physically holding Nightwing back as he struggles, _because he can’t be gone, not Jason, no._ It dimly registers in Gar’s mind that Jason must have been his name, and that’s the final straw. He slips back into his room, where M’gann still lies, unseeing and lost, and he creeps in beside her. He just needs to know she’s still alive.

He can remember the League arriving, because Batman’s there and Batman shouldn’t be _sad_ , Batman shouldn’t be breaking down, because he’s _Batman_. Wonder Woman orders everyone to get some rest, but he knows that no one’s going to sleep. Everyone’s too afraid of what they’ll dream of.

+

The next day is even worse, and no one speaks. Funeral arrangements are being made, and Nightwing just looks broken. Everything smells like ammonia, and the floor of the main room glistens, fresh and clean. It’s so wrong, that they just tried to wipe away the blood and the death like it would make everything better, but it just makes everything feel surreal and out of place.

Batman and Nightwing have taken Robin- _Jason_ back to Gotham, and the League-wide hunt for the Joker is forming, but the Team remains behind. Everything is grief and disbelief, with everyone wandering aimlessly through the cave, bags under their eyes and too afraid to go home. For once, Gar doesn’t see them as the strong, brave heroes they always acted like, but children, just like him. They are all just broken souls.

He feels hollow at this revelation, that these heroes were not immortal, and that they couldn’t save him. It’s like his mother’s death all over again, a blur and all senses are muted. Barbara calls later, announcing the plans for the funeral, but her voice is scratchy and her eyes are red. Jason’s death has already left its marks on everyone, and he already knows that they will never go away. They’ll just get worse.

The nightmares return the night of the funeral, triggered by the combination of his own fear and memories, and the sight of Nightwing breaking down as the tiny coffin is lowered into the ground. All he can do is numbly stare and repeat the same words over in his head, a chant echoed by everyone else standing around the gaping hole.

_It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair._

They spring up again with a vengeance, but he doesn’t cry out, and no comfort comes. Everyone else is dealing with their own.

_The back of the truck smells bad, and every time it goes over another bump in the uneven dirt road he bounces and a hard jolt slams through his aching body. He hisses in pain, but his arms are twisted behind his back and he is unable to steady himself. The soldiers aren’t mocking, or cruel. They’re just… indifferent. They couldn’t care less about his mother, or the small child they have tied up and taken. Whatever Queen Bee commands is what they do._

_It hasn’t hit him yet, her death. It’s vaguely there on the edge of his consciousness, that he won’t ever see her again, but he’s in too much pain to comprehend it. They’re talking, and he can only understand snatches of it in his distress. He guesses they must think he can only speak English, because otherwise they wouldn’t be discussing something so sensitive. "Bait" is the first word he hears, and he strains for more. Another guard says something about "that Martian bitch" but the vehicle takes a sharp turn and he crashes into the side with a yelp._

_When he picks his head up again, he’s alone. Faintly he can hear someone laughing in the distance. It’s not a mean laugh, but a light hearted, impish laugh. He sits straight up and yells out for Robin, but the laugh just gets louder and louder until it turns into screaming. He struggles to stand up, to run towards the voice, but he keeps stumbling, and panic blossoms in his chest. His heartbeats jumps, and it pounds in his ears, and he doesn’t feel scared. For once, he feels anger. It bursts through him, fury and pain burning inside him, whispering “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.” He can feel something growing in him, something he’s felt before. Something… wild._

+

The missions have stopped, but the Team continues to gather at the cave. There is no one else they can talk to that would understand what happened. It’s a place of comfort, and M’gann bakes batches and batches of perfect cookies and Conner lies on the couch watching the static, and old habit he hasn’t done in years. There is not much talking, but they all sit around, and the mere presence of everyone else renews and strengthens them all.

He finds Nightwing sitting at the kitchen table, just as he was in that conversation they had such a long time ago. Only this time, he’s tired, and he’s broken. Gar can see the bags under his eyes, even through his shades, and his knuckles are pale as he clutches his cup of coffee in his hands.

“I killed him.”

Gar pulls out a chair and sits down next to him.

“No you didn’t.” Nightwing’s shoulders begin to shake, and he doesn’t even try to keep himself composed.

“I thought giving him Robin would save him. That it would give him a chance for a new life, to start over. All I gave him was suffering and an unjust death.” His voice cracks, and he lets go of the cup to dig his hands into his head, squeezing tightly in an attempt to make the pain stop.

“You need to stop.” Nightwing doesn’t look up, but his ragged breathing calms a little.

“That’s what you told me when Mom died. ‘You need to stop.’ Maybe I didn’t entirely believe it, and maybe I still can’t completely do it, but at least I can give you your own advice.” His own voice is raw, but he just swallows heavily and continues. “You told me that the pain never really stops, and the memories never stop either. You told me the truth when no one else would. But you also told me that if I told myself it was my fault, I’d believe it, and that’d break me.

“You didn’t kill Jason. Robin didn’t kill Jason. You gave him something that he loved, and treasured. The only person that killed Jason was the Joker. A twisted, nasty person who just wanted to hurt someone. He’s the one that did it. Not you. He made that choice. You did nothing but love Jason. And he knew that.”

Nightwing is quiet, but his chest is heaving with silent sobs. Gar looks down at his feet, and hugs his knees tightly to his chest. “That’s what you told me. It was real good advice, and I think you should take it.” He doesn’t move, but he can feel the chair beside him scrape across the floor, and a warm hand briefly touch his head before moving on.

It’s probably time he focused on taking Nightwing’s advice himself.

+

The days that follow are like a seesaw. As soon as he feels like he he’s reached the top, that everything is finally getting better, he ends up at the bottom. One day they get Dick to laugh, and missions begin again, but the next Raquel arrives, sobbing holding a small plastic stick. It isn’t until all of the girls rush into the Cave and there is a tearful talk that he learns she’s pregnant. She stays the night, and the next, terrified to go home, just in case.

And so it goes. The weeks are punctuated by highs and lows, but for him, he measures them in battles. His little escapes have stopped, and he’s too afraid to ask to go out anymore. Raquel stays with him, and little by little, her stomach swells and she becomes excited and lively, bouncing baby names off everyone and asking (or rather, demanding) that he’ll babysit. He agrees wholeheartedly, and the whole team seems to gain new energy from the new life.

He promises himself that he’ll take little steps. He throws himself headlong into his fight, working tirelessly to slowly rid himself of the harmful habits he’s built up over the past two years. Some days are worse than others, ending with him crying to Black Canary in the middle of a panic attack because he doesn’t want to be a burden. That was an early step, forcing himself to go to her weekly counseling sessions, until he finally felt comfortable enough to put her on speed dial on his cell phone. She always picks up, and slowly talks him down until he can breathe and his body has stopped shaking.

The only piece of advice of hers that he’s been putting off is M’gann. The old neurotic fear of not wanting to bother her, not wanting to put more on top of her shoulders is still present, gnawing at his insides and twisting up his stomach until he feels sick. He’s been putting it off, but he needs her help so badly. He can’t deal with it alone. No one else can help, not with the nasty mental mess he’s built up for himself.

So instead, he crawls out of bed early in the morning and tries to meditate for an hour before going down to breakfast. The sensation of slipping into his own head is still strange, and he probably shouldn’t be doing it without help, but it’s getting easier and faster. He takes a deep breath, and tumbles down into the grass. This area is neat and ordered, their old house overlooking the barn and the herds of animals in the distance. He isn’t concerned with that area. Instead, he turns and faces the jungle, and, steeling himself, walks into it.

Vines snake around him, pulling at his cape and wrapping around his ankles. It’s not easy to leave this place, he knows all too well. After all, he made it that way.

Fragments of memories drift into his head, full of pain and blood and screaming.

_-Blood is trickling down his face and Queen Bee enters the room. “I need you to do a favor for me, love.” He needs to resist, needs to resist, resist resist resist-_

_-He’s screaming and clawing at the door, nails broken and fingers bleeding. His voice is hoarse and wild, and everything hurts, but M’gann is coming. She can’t come; he has to warn her-_

_-Things are exploding outside but he can’t see what’s happening. He’s been locked in for days, and he’s going crazy, biting and scratching anyone who enters in a desperate attempt to escape. He vaguely wonders if he’s too far gone for Queen Bee to control, but he pushes that thought aside and paces, ten across, ten back. There is nowhere else for him to go.-_

He violently rips free of the vines, and the memories, and stumbles into a panicked run. _You have to control them. Push them aside, lock them away so they can’t get out,_ he reminds himself. He slows to a halt to gather himself.

“It’s your own head. They can only hurt you if you give them that power. They’re just a part of you.” He speaks those words out loud, trying to control his breathing and slow down his heartbeat. It works, a little, and the nausea and fear bubbling up in his stomach seem to be subsiding. That’s a step forward, at least.

There is a slight rustling behind him, and the calm state he’s managed to create completely dissipates. He knows what’s coming back, what he has to force back and contain. He has to squash it, tame it somehow. He turns to face it, and it’s worse than he remembered.

Blood is dripping from it, one eye swollen shut. Its teeth and nails are sharp and dangerous, but that’s not what scares him the most. It’s the face, wild and dirty. There’s very little humanity left, broken by fear, anger, and madness. He can see the tendrils of green worming their way down its arms and up its neck. He knows from experience how much it’s hurting right now.

He instinctively takes a step back, and it reaches for him. He barely thinks, just reacts, sending a blast of mental energy toward it. His head explodes and he sits up, wheezing and in a cold sweat. His mouth tastes of blood, and he just staggers into the bathroom to run his head under the tap. He shakes his head like a dog, whipping water all over the room. He spends another few minutes calming himself down, and finally, maybe, he acknowledges that if he doesn’t talk to M’gann soon he’ll end up exactly like the beast.

+

He slips into her room that night, and she barely has to ask what’s wrong before he lets it spill out. It feels a little better, a little freeing to get tell her, but one look at her face, makes him tremble. She looks sad, and a little angry, and she just envelopes him in a hug that may contain a few extra sets of arms.

“First thing tomorrow, we’re gonna sort this out. I promise you.” She tells him, and he just nods into her shoulder, panicking but excited at the same time. He doesn’t really want her to see this side of him, the piece of him he’s locked up in his head, but she’s his sister. She’ll be there, and she’ll help make it better. He tells that to himself over and over, and it soothes him enough to let him go to sleep without nightmares.

+

He wakes around 4 in the morning, so he putters around, waiting for M’gann to come in. He showers, letting the hot water relax his muscles. He’s still scrawny and scarred, he notes as he wraps himself up in a towel and wipes away the fog on the mirror, but he doesn’t feel as breakable anymore. That’s an improvement.

The Martian body suit shifts around him, responding to the programmed mental commands. He pulls at the x, and smiles a little. Maybe he doesn’t share her powers, but he’s part of the family.

He counts them, the little things that make him feel safe, what got better, and it lulls him into a sense of peace. He feels more confident, so he sits back on his bed and waits.

M’gann enters later, and, yawning, tosses a breakfast pastry at him. He catches is, and she motions for him to eat, stuffing her own ravenously into her mouth.

“Eat up. That’s part of the problem. Fighting on an empty stomach is stupid, and dangerous, even if it’s a mental battle.” She seems to pull more out of thin air, and she sends over some hot chocolate, setting up a little floating meal over his sheets.

They take their time eating, and M’gann even makes the pastries zoom around the room like little airplanes. He knows she’s just trying to put the both of them at ease, but it still makes him feel better. Finally, all the food is gone, and he brushes some crumbs off his pillow as the Zeta Tube heralds some of the early risers heading in. M’gann just nods at the door and it swings shut, but not before Zatanna gives them a little friendly wave and skips down the hall, still in her pajamas.

“No one should bother us today. I’ve gotten Kaldur to clear my mission schedule, and Conner says he’ll deliver some brain food every few hours. Otherwise, we’ve got the whole day to sort this out.”

“Do you think we can fix it this fast?” M’gann sighs and stretches, cracking her neck as she thinks.

“No, not really. It won’t be that easy. But what I can do I help set up a foundation for you. Something to build upon, and can get you started. Remember, this is your mind. I can only do so much. You’re the one who needs to do most of the work.”

He can feel his chest already trying to tighten into a panic attack, but M’gann puts her hands on his shoulders and smiles at him.

“I’m going to be right there with you, so let’s get started.” They both sit back into cross legged positions, and begin the rudimentary breathing patterns he’s been practicing for the past year or so. With M’gann helping, the transition from physical to mental is much less jarring. He opens his eyes, and he can see her across from him, sitting on the front porch of his old house.

A gentle breeze blows across his mindscape, and the swing creaks beneath them. It brings him back, to the few memories they shared together here, before everything fell to pieces. He wishes they could just sit there for a while, but they have work to do.

M’gann is the first to get up, and he can see some hesitation in her face, but she shakes it off quickly.

“There is something important I have to tell you. It’s the greatest weapon I can give you in this fight.” He stands up next to her, and she grabs his hands tightly.

“You have to let it go.” He looks at her in shock and horror, but she continues before he can speak.

“You’ve been hiding it, boxing up this piece of you, this secret. You’re afraid of it, that it will destroy you and all you’ve worked for, all your relationships and all the progress you’ve made. But that’s what gives it power. Trying to hold it back is going to break you apart. It will consume you, the more desperate you become to hide it.

“You don’t have to like that part of you. You don’t have to let it shape you. But you do have to admit it exists. It exists, and maybe it makes you uncomfortable. It’s still a part of you, and only once you can accept that can you move on.” Her hands change in his grip, fingers melting together, her body growing long and bony, her skin bleaching. He knows her chosen appearance is not what she really looks like, but he’s never asked. It’s something deeply personal, and if she dislikes it, he doesn’t want to force her to take that form.

She is still lovely.

“It’s a form I don’t like. It’s wrong, and I feel wrong in it. I tried to run from it, pretend it didn’t exist, and the secret almost drove me mad and brought my friends down with me. It destroyed our family. But it’s still a part of me, and it’s something I need to use on occasion. Only once I told people, let them see and saw that they didn’t care, was when that fear lost its power. I still feel uncomfortable in it, and I prefer not to use it, but I’m not afraid of it anymore. That’s the difference.”

He reaches out for her, and wraps her alien body in his arms. Green bleeds into her skin where he touches her, and she melts back into herself in his embrace. They stand like that for a while, and when he lets go, he knows what he has to do.

“I’m always going to be right here, you know that.” He smiles, and walks into the jungle.

“Of course you will. You’re my sister, and I’m your brother. We watch each other’s backs. It’s what family does.”

The vines and trees part more easily, and he manages to hold back the smaller fragments of his memories until he reaches the clearing where he last saw it. It’s watching him, eyes open and afraid, shadows dancing on its bruised and bloody face as it retreats away from him.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He’s a bit surprised at how confident his voice sounds, and he guesses it is too, its eyes widening in confusion.

“I’m just here to make things better.” He steps toward it, arms open and outstretched. It takes a step forward, and he can see it clearly. It’s him, really. Younger, more frightened, and maybe a little crazy, but still him. _Don’t be afraid. It’s only you. You’re only hurting yourself if you push it away_ , he reminds himself. He swallows down the fear, and reaches out for himself. Their hands meet, and the memory, the side of himself he’s been trying to trample splash over him like scalding hot water, and everything warps.

_The trees change into concrete walls, cracked and stained, scarred with desperate claw marks. He’s alone again, and his body burns, something alien coursing through his veins and leaking out of his bruised fingers and broken nails. There are explosions outside, and he’s pounding at the door, screaming to get out, because he feels her._

_The sounds pouring from his throat are barely human, a mixture of English and Arabic and strange tortured noises. People are screaming, and from what he can piece together Queen Bee’s plan didn’t go as smoothly as she had hoped._

_He needs to be stronger, he needs to get out. M’gann is out there, she’s looking for him, but Psimon must have blocked his presence. He digs his tortured fingers into the crack under the door and pulls. There is a little creak, which is promising, so he braces himself, digging his bare feet into the ground and puts his back into it._

_Another explosion goes off, closer to the door, and he retreats, hugging his hands close to his body, whimpering like a wounded animal. He’s losing it, and he’s going to lose M’gann, too. His breathing is labored, and another tremor ripples through him as screws his eyes shut and tries to pretend he can’t see the green streaks standing out against his pale skin, coloring his blood._

_He needs to be stronger._

_He shrugs off his one extra layer, and rips it up with teeth, bandaging up his hands like Marie taught him. She’s dead, and it’s painful, but he’s not going to let go of the only family he has left. He takes his place by the door again, grip tightening. He takes a deep breath, and puts his entire body into it._

_The door shifts, and so does something else inside of him. It aches, but it’s a good ache, like stretching a muscle he hasn’t in a while, so he gives in to it, lets it spread. Something breaks inside of him, and he’s using strength he didn’t know he had, his senses sharper than they used to be. He lets out a wild yell, and the door flies open with enough to force to slam him back into the opposite wall._

_He picks himself up slowly, and sniffs the air. It’s thick with blood, his own, trickling down his neck from where he cracked his head on the concrete wall, and the Biyalian soldiers. Light filters through the open door, blinding him. He hisses and closes his eyes, making his way out using his sensitive hands on the wall and his new, keen sense of smell._

_He makes it outside before his legs collapse on him, and he can vaguely make out someone running toward him._

_“Mom?” He whispers. But it isn’t her. It’s M’gann, and she gathers him into her arms, and he curls inward, burying his face and her chest, and wails. She doesn’t even try to be brave. She’s covered in blood and grime, and tears stream down her face, cutting paths in it. They cry together, messy and broken, and the bio ship descends to take them away._

  
_  
_+

Conner is shaking him, and it’s like he’s waking from a long, deep sleep. He slowly turns his head to see M’gann smiling at him. Sometime during the day Conner must have moved them, because they’re no longer sitting cross-legged, but lying across the bed in a much more comfortable position.

“It’s been at least 12 hours since you went under.” Conner explains, handing them cups of tea that he probably didn’t make himself. None of them are all that surprised. Time seems to move so much slower in one’s mind, and his body is complaining, stiff and starving.

Conner pulls a chair over, and hands them some food. There’s a knock on the door, and Raquel enters with bowls of soup. She looks radiant, and her pregnant belly is just starting to show. She sits down on the end of the bed and bounces a little, stopping only when M’gann shoots her a look after having to telekinetically save her chicken noodle from splashing everywhere.

“Did it go all right?” Conner finally asks, and they all turn to him. He swallows the last spoonful and rests the bowl in his lap.

“I… think.” Everyone nods as if it’s a perfectly acceptable answer, and no one pushes him to say more. M’gann has dozed off beside him, and Conner picks her up, and carries her off to their bedroom. Despite Raquel’s lecturing, he helps her gather the dishes and they walk down to the kitchen together. They make a strange pair, the soon-to-be mother and the little green boy.

As he helps her wash up, he notices a stirring from the mission room, and he can barely make out a mass of sleeping forms sprawled out on the floor. A lump rises in his throat, and he feels overwhelmed with everything that has happened that day. Raquel sends him down the hall with a little push, and she jokes that by the time the baby’s here she’ll have gotten plenty of practice mothering with him.

It’s a weird little family they have, and he’s grateful for them. He lies in bed for a while longer, just thinking. He has work to do, but it can wait until the morning.

+

A few months later Kaldur finds him sitting outside on top of Mount Justice. He sits there peacefully, letting his skin soak up the sun and warmth he’s missed all winter. He’s still not used to the cold, and he probably never will be, so he spends as much time as he can outside, bringing a book and stretching out his bare legs in the sunlight.

“I like your new uniform.” Gar looks down at it and smiles proudly.

“Thanks. It was a hard decision, to let go of the x, but I figured that I don’t really need it to know I’m part of the family. And it doesn’t really fit, not with my power set.”

“Forgive me for being so intrusive, but how is your training going?” Gar sighs and puts his book down.

“It’s going okay. Right now we’re just working on figuring out the extent of my shapeshifting, and practice holding a form. I held one for ten minutes yesterday!” Kaldur cannot hide his pride to see Gar looking so excited.

“M’gann has mentioned that you are thinking of taking a permanent form.” Gar goes silent, and Kaldur sits down beside him and stretches out.

“Perhaps you would not like to talk about it. I understand. However, as leader, it is my duty, and my desire, to make sure that all member of my team are happy and to look out for their well-being. If you ever wish to talk, I am always waiting.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just... trying to figure out how to phrase this. Sis mentioned you would understand.”

“Take all the time you need.”

They sit for a while, Gar lost in thought until he finally is ready.

“I need to move on, and this is a new step. Choosing a new form is a decision that’s really difficult, but I think it would help. M’gann always says that the most important thing about shape shifting is to be comfortable in the forms you take.

“I don’t feel comfortable in this form anymore. There’s too much baggage. This body is small, and weak, and broken. It can’t do much, and I feel vulnerable in it. It’s a victim, and I don’t want to be a victim anymore. I want to be stronger, and I want to feel better again. I want to feel like _me_ again. Does… that make sense?”

Kaldur places his hand on the boy’s head and ruffles his hair.

“I think that is a perfect reason, and I am sure that the whole team will support you in this endeavor, whatever form you choose.” Gar leans in, and the listen to the seagulls squawk in fear on the beach below as Wally chases them away from the sand palace Nightwing and Artemis have been painstakingly engineering all day.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this good. Change is hard, but he’s working on it, and he can feel the emptiness inside of him filling up. The whole team is lively and excited again, and they’ve been working on creating a memorial for Jason in a grotto beneath the Cave.

“So, when do I get to officially join the Team?” He jokes, but his heart is leaping at the thought. Kaldur chuckles a little. “Well, first of all, you have to get those powers under control first. Then we’ll talk about you getting to go on official missions. I do not think the League, or your sister, for that matter, will agree to let you go on dangerous missions at such a young age.”

“I see.” It’s a disappointment, but not one he didn’t expect.

“And Black Canary will have to clear you as well.” Kaldur looks apologetic, and Gar can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Nightwing was just cleared last month to take up active duty after Jason, and he’s going to miss having him around the Cave. It seems like he’s the only one left, sitting through therapy session after therapy session, talking about his feelings and adjusting to the strange new things his powers are doing and dealing with the wild and crazy part of him that just wants out.

“She thinks that time will come sooner that you might think.” Gar looks up, startled, but Kaldur puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Don’t worry, she has not divulged anything that goes on in your talks.” Gar sighs in relief. He’s been a bit more open about his fears and issues, but it isn’t something he likes to share with the whole team. It will out, eventually, but he’s not ready yet.

“That’s okay.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how do _you_ feel?” He doesn’t mind, and he thinks hard about the question.

His body itches. It feels cramped in this form, and he wants to go back to the form he’s been working on. It misses the freedom, the flexibility, and the lightness. He wants to stretch, but M’gann is always telling him he has to take it slowly, so he doesn’t hurt himself, so he feels impatient too. He’s going to try for eleven minutes, tomorrow.

The sun is shining, and the wind that makes it to the top of the mountain smells of salt and water. Below them, Mal is firing up the grill, and Tula and Garth are cavorting in the water, splashing and trying to outdo each other with their constructs. M’gann is trying to do her best to save the sand palace, and Raquel and Zatanna are yelling at them from their beach chairs to stop spraying them. Conner is coming out of Mount Justice carrying coolers of soda, and everyone shrieks as the beach umbrella goes flying away and Wally has to chase it.

Karen sprawls out on the sand by Raquel, and the rest of the girls flop down on their towels, eating hotdogs and probably discussing baby names. It’s been the main topic of conversation for the past few weeks, and it usually devolves into silliness, with ‘Anakin’ and ‘Mufasa’ both being suggested multiple times. Artemis looks up and spots them. She waves her arms and yells for them to come down.

He waves down at them, and shouts that he’ll be down in a minute. He turns to Kaldur and answers the question, speaking as truthfully as he can.

“It’s hard, and I know that I still have a way to go. But…” He smiles and says words that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to say again.

“I’m feeling better.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set during the five year gap, and is, at its core, about trauma and how it affects the person and their relationships. I did my best to include as much of the events that we know happened in the gap,and to tell my interpretation of how Gar got to where he is today. Special thanks to Annica, for editing!


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